


Growing Together

by kattahj



Category: JONES Diana Wynne - Works, Ogre Downstairs - Diana Wynne Jones
Genre: Family, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Magic, Post-Book(s), Yuletide 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-08 15:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Brent-McIntyre family settle down in their new house after the events of the book. As it turns out, even without Magicraft, strange things can still happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Together

The new house had quite a large garden, though it wasn't very garden-like, more a collection of very short weeds. The Ogre made sure the grass was cut, either by cutting it himself or by making someone else do it, which the children didn't grumble too much about since he paid them for the job. That was as far as it went. Nobody cared enough to sow any vegetables, much less flowers. The lawn was very useful for football and somersaults, except on rainy days - which was most of them - when it turned into a muddy bog that pulled at your boots.

This day was rainy, and after Caspar came home from his friend's house, he spent some time standing in the window, looking thoughtfully at the garden. When the drizzle came to a momentary halt, he put on his wellingtons and went outside, walking slowly from corner to corner with his head cocked.

"What is he doing?" Sally asked as she happened to glance outside. "Johnny? Do you know what your brother is up to?"

"No," Johnny said. "Mum, is it true hamsters are smarter than guinea pigs?"

"I have absolutely no idea, darling."

With that, the conversation was over and they each went on with their own business. Malcolm was the one to finally brave the weather and go out to talk to Caspar.

"Are you making some sort of measurements?" Malcolm asked.

Caspar straightened up, giving an embarrassed smile. He wiped his dirty hands off on his trousers, but they were so speckled with mud and rain that it helped very little.

"In a way," he said. "I'm trying to determine whether the ground is solid enough to support a trampoline, even in the rain."

"A trampoline?"

"Like the one Eric Morris has."

A glint of interest awakened in Malcolm's otherwise expressionless face. "You tried it?"

"Oh, it's brilliant," Caspar said enthusiastically. "Not a bit like the little ones in school. You could do anything on his, and it sends you flying so high, it's like... well, truth be told... it reminded me of Vol.Pulv."

There was a moment's pause as Malcolm took this in.

"And you think the ground can support it?" he said wistfully.

"I think it might, yes. And if it does - there's still money, isn't there?"

"Some. How much do those things cost?"

"I don't know."

Malcolm bit his lip and then said, "He can't do more than yell. And he's been a really good sport lately."

Caspar grinned. "So, how big a trampoline do you think we can fit into this garden? I keep losing count."

"Let's see, if one large step is three feet..."

They were still stomping around the garden when Gwinny arrived, with her raincoat slung over her arm. The rain had started again, and her hair was hanging in dripping locks, but she stopped to watch the boys, who were even more sopping wet than she was but completely oblivious to the fact.

Some sort of big brotherly feeling reached through to Caspar and made him stop in his track, his brow furrowing as he watched Gwinny. "Why aren't you wearing that?" he asked, nodding towards the raincoat.

"It broke," she said. "Anyway, what are you wearing?"

Caspar looked down at his jumper, which was now clinging so closely to his body that you could se every seam of the shirt below. He then looked over at Malcolm, whose appearance was much the same.

"I suppose we ought to go inside and change," he said sheepishly.

"We had better," Gwinny said. "Tea's in half an hour."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Sally saw them come in, but didn't question them, even when Gwinny dug in behind all the other coats and jackets to hang her raincoat. By the time tea was ready, all three of them were properly changed, dry (though Gwinny's hair was still damp enough to curl), and sitting at the table.

"How much does a trampoline cost?" Caspar asked, just as the Ogre had taken a bite from his egg. "A large one?"

The Ogre chewed and swallowed. "I haven't the faintest idea. Fifty-sixty pounds?"

"Oh," Caspar said, pleased that the sum, while daunting in comparison to his allowance, was still so reasonable in comparison with what they had paid for the house.

Malcolm was the one to actually blurt out the question: "Can we have one, for the garden?"

The Ogre raised a bushy eyebrow.

"There is still money from the Peter Fillus, isn't there?" Caspar asked.

"Yes. There is. Why a trampoline?"

"Eric Morris has one, see..."

"Ah. And are we now to have everything that the Morrises have?"

Caspar blushed and reminded himself that this flat, sarcastic tone was just the Ogre's way of joking. "No. Just this. It's such good fun, see, almost like flying."

"Ooh!" Gwinny said in a delighted sigh.

The Ogre looked from Gwinny to Caspar, and then on to Malcolm. Caspar got the distinct impression that he was amused.

In a burst of inspiration, Caspar added, "And it's very good exercise. Eric's mum said so."

"By all means," the Ogre said. "If Mrs. Morris has vouched for its value, and you're all so set on it, I see no reason why you shouldn't have a trampoline. Unless, of course, someone had plans to use the garden for actual gardening."

"Not I!" said Sally. "I've never cared for all that digging and weeding."

"No fear!" said Johnny. "I doubt I'll ever want to put something in the ground again, after Dens. Drac."

Gwinny giggled. "Perhaps if we planted my teeth in the garden, little girls would grow up. Or we could plant the bacon skin and grow pigs."

"Wouldn't that be a mess!" Caspar exclaimed, remembering the trouble they'd had with the living toffee bars. He very much doubted you could get rid of unruly pigs by melting them in the bathtub.

"Or we could plant baked beans and grow..."

"A tree of flatulence," Douglas said, deadpan.

"Douglas!" Sally couldn't help but laugh. "I think that's a 'no' for growing things in the garden, Jack. A trampoline sounds much better."

"A trampoline it is, then," the Ogre said. "Is there anything else you voracious lot want, while Sally and I are handing out the alms?"

"I need a new raincoat," Gwinny said. "What's an alm?"

"It's money you give to the poor, dear," said Sally. "Why do you need a new raincoat? We bought you a new one only a few months ago."

Gwinny squirmed in her chair. "It broke."

It was very clear that the usually forthright Gwinny tried to evade the question. Johnny put down his fork and just stared at her. The others tried to hide their surprise somewhat, with varied success.

"It broke? Just like that?" the Ogre asked, though his voice was gentle.

"While I was playing in the park," Gwinny said, hastily taking another piece of toast. "Mm, this marmalade is yummy!"

Nobody wanted to pressure Gwinny further, and so after a moment's uncomfortable silence, Sally said, "I'll go with you tomorrow and we'll find you a lovely raincoat, Gwinny."

"What about me?" Johnny chimed in.

"What about you?" the Ogre asked dryly.

"Can I have a hamster?"

"A hamster? What on earth for?"

"Well, they're... fun."

"Hm. I'm not sure I trust any of you with a living thing since last time. I have no particular desire to find a hamster draped over the radiator."

Caspar grimaced. "Honestly, Johnny, I'm surprised you even want one."

"I could feed it and play with it," Johnny insisted.

"You can do that with the pipe," said Malcolm.

"Oh, can I now?" Johnny was irritated enough to imitate Malcolm's accent, something they'd mostly stopped doing by now, and Caspar kicked him under the table. "The pipe is so boring lately."

The Ogre glanced down on his pipe, which was sleeping in his pocket, looking for all the world like an ordinary pipe. "Be that as it may," he said, "at least it's useful. Pray tell, what does a hamster do except smell bad when you've forgotten to clean the cage?"

"I wouldn't forget!"

"Don't they run in little wheels?" Sally said.

"Unless the wheels are connected to a generator I don't count that as useful either. It's not like a dog, performing actual duties..."

"Oh, can we have a dog!" Gwinny exclaimed.

Sally threw the Ogre a 'now see what you've done' look, which in combination with the childrens' excited cries left him utterly perplexed.

"You lot and a dog?" he protested. "Heaven help me!"

"You did say a dog was more useful," Douglas pointed out, a wistful note to his voice.

The Ogre remained dumbfounded for a moment as the children nattered on about how brilliant it would be to have a dog and even Sally got a thoughtful glint in her eyes. Then he pulled himself together and barked, "Johnny!"

Johnny started, expecting a chewing-out.

"I will make a deal with you. If you manage to show that you're responsible enough to care for an animal - say, by keeping your room tidy between now and Christmas - you will get a hamster."

The others gave a collective sigh of disappointment that the imaginary dog had now shrunk back into a mere hamster. Johnny was pleased that he'd won, but even he felt a touch of disappointment at the conditions. "Why do I have to wait so long when the others get their things right away?"

"The others wished for things that are rather more low maintenance."

"Except for the dog," Gwinny said.

"If Johnny manages to take good care of a hamster, I'd certainly be willing to discuss a dog."

"That's a pretty big if," Malcolm said bitterly.

"Hey!" said Johnny.

Before they had time to start an argument, Sally jumped in to mediate.

"Now, Malcolm," she said, "your father has a point. The animals will have to wait until you've proven that you can take responsibility. Douglas, is there anything you want?"

Douglas started and seemed about to say something, but then shook his head. "No, thank you. Maybe some other time."

"Not even clothes? You're all growing like weeds."

"Maybe some other time," he repeated.

Gwinny giggled. "If Douglas is a weed Jack could mow him down to keep him short."

"That reminds me," the Ogre said. "I need a volunteer for lawn duty."

Everybody groaned. "Not again."

"I'm afraid so. These weeds of ours seem to be on steroids. Caspar, would you care to make the place ready for the trampoline?"

Caspar sighed, but when the Ogre phrased it like that he couldn't deny that it was a fair deal - especially compared to Johnny having to clean his room until Christmas. "Very well."

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The next day, Douglas was doing his French homework in the living room when Gwinny rushed in, breathing hard and with her new raincoat turned inside-out. Seeing Douglas, she stopped short and gave a quivering smile.

"Oh, good," she gasped.

Douglas looked up from his textbook, rather pleased with the distraction, but surprised to see Gwinny in such a state of disarray.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

Gwinny took a few hesitant steps ahead, looking very solemn. "Douglas, will you help me with something very, very important?"

Judging by her tone, the matter was serious - but then, anything was a serious matter when you were Gwinny's age. "Are you late with a school project?"

The dismissive scoff she gave that thought jarred against her grave expression. "I said important. I need your help with the Vile Children."

It sounded so much like the title of a morality play that he laughed in surprise. "What?"

"The Vile Children," she repeated. "They're in the park, in the afternoons. Not every day, but most of them. They take your things and beat you and - you know."

Douglas did know. His face hardened. If Gwinny was dealing with bullies, she shouldn't have to do it alone. "Is that why your raincoat was torn yesterday?"

"Yes. I can usually outrun them," she hurried to assure him, not wanting him to think that she was helpless in the face of danger, "but I was going home with Peter yesterday and he's not very fast. I had to stop to help him. So today they were really angry. Angry enough that I think they may leave the park. I'm afraid I might not survive the week."

While those fears of her were exaggerated, what really might happen was cause enough for alarm. There were few places you could go from their house without passing through the park. Douglas nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Come with me tomorrow and frighten them for me. It'll work best if it's you, you're much bigger and scarier than Caspar or Johnny."

Douglas was flattered by the request, though it didn't take much to be scarier than a pair of middle schoolers. And he was certainly willing to help Gwinny, but... "If it's scary you want, wouldn't you be better off asking my father?" 

Of all five children, Gwinny was the one most comfortable with approaching the Ogre about things, but this time she shook her head forcefully. "Oh no, I can't bring in adults. That's quite against the rules."

'Rules' were perhaps not something Douglas would consider when it came to dealing with bullies, but he saw her point. If she became known for running to daddy with her problems, she'd be in trouble not just with these so-called Vile Children but probably with her entire school.

"Big brothers are all right, though," she continued. "That's quite expected, talking to your big brother."

Douglas remembered the number of times he'd wished for a big brother instead of Malcolm. He was supposed to meet some friends at the music store tomorrow, but never mind that. "All right. Count me in."

 

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Gwinny was waiting for him at his school the next day. It was clear that she was used to the expectations of a little sister, because she wasn't waving or shouting as he'd seen other kid siblings do (to great mortification for their big brothers) - she simply walked into his line of sight.

"Hello, Douglas," she said when they came closer.

"Hello, Gwinny," he replied, noticing that while she looked and sounded entirely casual, there was a twitch in her hand as if she'd been ready to take his.

Fortunately, it went no further than a twitch. Douglas pretended he didn't see it, but once they were out of sight from his friends, he ruffled Gwinny's hair a little.

The park was at that stage of autumn where the ground bloomed with litter rather than flowers. There were very few people present, only a couple of dog walkers, until they reached the playground.

The half-dozen boys and girls gathered in the sandbox around the swings didn't have a vile look about them. There were no scars or inappropriate T-shirts, nor were they sickly beautiful with golden curls and white frills. They looked like any other children, most in school uniform, two in utterly average slacks and shirts. Their noses were wiped and their clothes no dirtier than could be expected of children standing in a sandbox. They even smiled.

But Douglas knew that smile. Over the years, he had seen it a number of times, directed at himself, friends, and - during the short period of time when they shared school - Malcolm, more times than he could count. It was a smile that said, 'We can do anything we want, and believe us, we're going to.'

If that was not enough of a clue, one of the boys held a skinny, smaller boy in a headlock. Douglas scowled. The young captor paled at the sight and his smile faltered as he shifted his arm to lie, white-fingered, around the skinny boy's shoulders.

"Hello there, Brent," one of the girls said to Gwinny. It was quite impressive how she managed to keep a straight face with a voice so dripping with venom.

Gwinny shivered and glanced at Douglas, who was now scowling even harder. The Vile Children started squirming.

"What's this, then?" asked the cheekiest one, trying to appear untroubled.

"I'm here with my sister," Douglas said slowly, not bothering to add in the 'step-', "and she's here with him."

He nodded towards the skinny boy. He had no idea if this was indeed a friend of Gwinny's or not, but the words had the intended effect. The boy's captor let go of him as if burned.

The boy, red-faced and panting, immediately ran over to Gwinny, positioning himself so close to her that Douglas could have reached over Gwinny and patted his pack, had he wanted to. But right now, he had other priorities.

"We were only having a lark," the second-cheekiest Vile Child dared to say.

"Were you, now?" Douglas said. "Well, it ends here." Then he started telling them what exactly would happen if it did, in fact, not end here.

Afterwards, he wouldn't have been able to properly recount what he'd said, or if he'd managed to stay as coolly sarcastic as the Ogre at his best - he rather suspected not. Either way, the Vile Children started walking away, then running, and it was only when they were completely gone that Douglas took a deep, harsh breath and went quiet.

Gwinny reached out with a trembling hand and gave Douglas a quick thank-you pat on the arm. Even knowing that he was on her side, it took almost more courage than she had, after that showdown. She glanced over at her friend, who looked rather dazed.

"Peter? Are you all right?"

Peter swallowed audibly and nodded. "'mfine," he said in a small voice. "They poured sand down my trousers."

Douglas sighed, turned to the kids, and took Gwinny's hand in his right one and Peter's in his left.

"Come on, then," he said. "A good thing we finally figured out how to work the washing machine."

 

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When they returned home, the trampoline had arrived, and everybody was too busy getting it functional to wonder why suddenly the family had an extra child, or why said child walked with such a stiff gait. Perhaps Johnny would have noticed his own trousers on Peter fifteen minutes later, when the three had started the washing machine and come back outside, but who can pay attention to things like trousers when you're bouncing several feet in the air?

"I can see," Johnny panted, craning his neck, "Malcolm's room."

"Oi, watch it," said Caspar, who very nearly jumped into him.

Johnny did his best to stay clear of Caspar's and Malcolm's paths as he continued peeking into the second floor windows.

"It is - insufferably - tidy," he said. "Malcolm, won't you - clean for me - if I pay you?"

"No!" said both Malcolm and the Ogre. The Ogre added, "You clean your own room to get the hamster, Johnny, that's the agreement. If I find out you've bribed the others, or coerced them in any way..."

"As if I could," Johnny muttered, still bouncing higher and higher.

Gwinny watched the flying figures, mesmerized. "Oh, can I have a go?" she cried.

Caspar slowed down and sidled towards the edge of the trampoline until he could jump off. He gave Gwinny a hand and carefully helped her up, while Johnny and Malcolm held a safe distance.

"All right," Caspar said, turning to Peter. "I can... oh." It finally registered to him that the little boy in the oversized trousers was a complete stranger. He blinked. "Hello there."

"Hello," Peter whispered shyly.

"Would you like to jump too?"

"Oh yes, please!"

Caspar lifted Peter onto the trampoline as well, and soon both Peter and Gwinny, being so much lighter than the others, soared high into the air, above the roof top.

Douglas watched with a critical eye. "You strung it too tight," he told the Ogre.

The Ogre scoffed. "I did exactly what it said in the manual."

"They'll knock themselves silly, at this rate."

The Ogre's grim expression showed a certain suspicion that Douglas might be right. "Stay away from the edge and each other!" he bellowed at the jumpers. "There. They're fine."

Sally chewed her lip and looked from the trampoline to the nearest hard objects, which happened to be the garden chairs. "I think I'll move these, just in case," she said and went to do so. Grabbing the back of one chair, she pulled - but the chair didn't budge. A few more attempts made no difference whatsoever, even when the Ogre and Douglas came to help. Even the parasol seemed glued to the ground.

"What on earth?" Sally panted. "Jack, you haven't set the chairs in concrete, have you?"

"Why would I do something like that?" the Ogre snapped, clearly cranky at the way his strength had failed him regarding the chairs. "They must have sunk down into the earth during the rains. We can dig them up tomorrow, or during the weekend."

"I suppose they must have," Sally said. "How strange!"

At that moment, Gwinny shouted in triumph as she'd managed to bounce close enough to the house to nip some leaves from the drain. She immediately proceeded to throw them all over the other jumpers, though she decided to leave Peter alone since she rather figured he'd had enough of that sort of thing for one day.

While Johnny and Malcolm were still brushing leaves from their clothes. Caspar's eyes met Douglas's, and they exchanged a knowing look. Whether their parents acknowledged it or not, there was something brilliantly wrong about the trampoline.

 

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Johnny did start cleaning up his room the next day, the image of Malcolm's spotless floor and impeccably organized shelves still fresh in his mind.

The first bit was easy enough: removing everything from the shelves and tables in order to dust the surfaces. The dusting itself proved problematic, though. For one thing, with all his possessions on the floor Johnny could barely move enough to get to the different pieces of furniture. For another, there were certain things still stubbornly attached to the cleared areas.

"Yuk!" said Caspar, who was watching from the doorway. "The chewing gum is one thing, and I supposed I can understand the spilt orangeade, but that sandwich, Johnny? Honestly?"

"Oh, shut up or help out!" Johnny said, throwing the mouldy sandwich in the garbage. He hoped touching it wasn't a health hazard - it rather seemed like it might be.

Caspar did shut up, but continued to watch, with the satisfaction of a person whose own messiness looked ever so much better in comparison.

Johnny tried to clean the sticky spots away with water, and then went down to ask his mother: "What gets chewing gum off furniture?"

"Oh, good Lord," said Sally, rummaging through the cellar. "Not now, Johnny. I'm trying to find the shovels."

Sulking, he left the cellar and went looking in the cleaning cabinet. The things marked "X" and "corrosive" seemed like they'd have the greatest effect, so he took out a couple of those bottles, as well as a pair of rubber gloves. He walked into the kitchen with this still stacked in his arms and ran into Malcolm, who raised his eyebrows at the sight.

"Are you cleaning the drains or repainting the furniture?"

"Neither," said Johnny. "I'm just trying to get the chewing gum off my bookshelves."

Malcolm snorted. "If you use that, you're sure to get rid of the chewing gum, the finish, and possibly bits of the wood."

"So what do you suggest, Your Cleanliness?" asked Johnny, tired of being subjected to the others' jeering comments.

Malcolm reached into one of the kitchen drawers and handed Johnny a table knife. "Here. Rub an ice cube over the spot and then scrape the gum off with this."

Johnny gave the knife a doubtful look. "Are you sure a carving knife wouldn't be better?"

"Again, you're trying to get rid of the chewing gum, not the finish." Malcolm took the ice tray out of the freezer and handed that over to Johnny as well.

"Okay, thanks," Johnny said and put down the bottles so he could take the tray and return to his room.

After hacking away at the shelves with the knife (which he vowed to bury in the garden rather than use for eating ever again), he managed to get them clean enough for restocking. He started with books, since they were fairly easy to grab and put up, and he didn't think the Ogre would be horrid enough to ask that he alphabetize them or something. Besides, the way the shelves were built, the big books didn't fit at the top, only at the bottom, and size was a form of order, wasn't it?

Having done the books, he skipped the comics, since he couldn't think of any way they'd not be in a shapeless pile. He'd have to ask Malcolm about that later. Instead, he filled the rest of the first shelf with model cars and aeroplanes. Once that was done, he'd really had enough of the whole cleaning business and decided that the rest could wait until tomorrow. If anyone complained or made snide comments, he could always point them to the one tidy set of shelves and argue that perfection takes time.

To his surprise, he found none of the others in their rooms or even downstairs. He returned to his own room to fetch the knife and make good of his vow. Stepping out in the garden, he finally spotted the rest of the family, gathered around the garden chairs. They were sweaty and dirty, some of them leaning on shovels, but no one was digging anymore. Instead, they just stood there with various expressions of shock and disbelief on their faces.

He discreetly dropped the knife in a bush - not that the others would have noticed if he had done a war dance with it first.

"What's going on?" he asked, going up to them.

"...as if they were saplings," the Ogre was muttering

Caspar turned to Johnny and pointed mutely into the hole dug by the leg of one garden chair. Near the ground, the chair's white paint was peeling off, leaving way for the dirty, bare brown wood, which continued for a few inches underground before branching into... Johnny blinked.

"It's grown roots!?"

"They have to be attached to some sort of weed," the Ogre snapped.

"I told you," said Douglas, "they're not. There's nothing there except the chair - and its roots."

"It has been raining a lot lately," Gwinny offered.

Even Johnny knew better than that. They all shook their heads.

"Darling, that wood has been cut up, sanded, painted and nailed together," Sally said. "It's dead."

A thought occurred to Johnny, and he hurried to turn his face down, watching the hole intently so as to not meet anybody's gaze and give the thought away. Either he was too late or the Ogre's reasoning was much like his own, because the Ogre asked, sounding surprisingly mild, "Did any of you children save something from your chemistry sets?"

"No," Johnny said, hastily looking up again so he wouldn't be suspected. To his surprise, all the others said "no" as well.

"Caspar?" the Ogre asked.

"No. What do you ask me for?" Caspar said, affronted to be in the crossfire.

"Because of your honest face," the Ogre said, with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. His eyes moved over to Malcolm, but of course you could never tell what Malcolm was thinking. Finally, his gaze rested on Douglas, who shrugged.

"I haven't the faintest."

The Ogre nodded slowly, accepting that they were all telling the truth. "Very well. It could be worse, really. At least the chairs haven't grown teeth or tried to drag us all underground. Since we don't know what caused this, we can't counter it - granted, we could always saw the roots off..."

He sounded very reluctant making that last suggestion, and it seemed to everyone that this would be a hard deal on the poor garden chairs that had made such an effort.

"Oh, please don't!" Gwinny said, vocalizing what they all were thinking.

The Ogre's mouth twitched in the beginning of a smile. "I suppose we have to reconcile ourselves to having a very... unique garden set."

Johnny gave the trampoline a thoughtful look. "Or a very unique garden," he mumbled, low enough that the adults wouldn't hear.

 

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The first Saturday in October was unusually sunny, and the children took the opportunity to play some more on the trampoline. They jumped all together and in turns of two and three, practicing new backflips and somersaults, twirling around each other in the air like a juggler's balls. Even Douglas participated, though by dinner he claimed he had to 'get ready' and disappeared into his room, after which no one saw head or tail of him for an hour.

The remaining four kept at it and soon worked out a routine that looked fairly impressive - until Gwinny saw some familiar figures looking over the garden wall. She immediately tripped over her own feet and fell forwards, landning on her hands before bouncing back to sit flat on her behind.

It was only three of the Vile Children, not the whole band, but three was bad enough, especially if they knew where she lived. Gwinny swallowed hard and braced herself for a struggle.

Somehow Caspar grasped what was going on, because he did a handspring over the edge of the trampoline and landed steadily astride, hands on his waist. His clothes glittered in the sun - instead of the worn blue tennis shirt he had worn a second ago, he now wore one of those metal-ring shirts knights wore. A moment later, Malcolm landed next to him, wearing much the same kind of outfit. Gwinny looked in amazement at them, and dared a glance towards Johnny, who was just pulling out a sword from the bushes.

The Vile Children drew back at the sight, but they didn't leave completely. Then the door slammed and Douglas stepped out into the garden. At first he was just plain Douglas, albeit in an ironed shirt and a tie, but then he spotted the Vile Children and something changed. His clothes didn't shift shape or go blurry, but just as clearly as he had been wearing ordinary clothes before, when he strode through the garden he was wearing a long, Navy blue cape and silver armour.

He flung the gate open and barked, "I thought I told you lot to stay away!"

The Vile Children scattered and fled down three different streets. Douglas shook his head and returned inside the garden to fetch his steed - no, his bike. It was without a doubt still his five-speed bicycle with rust marks on the green paint, but it was also, at the same time, a pearly white steed, and the juxtaposition made Gwinny's head hurt.

"You're all right, aren't you?" he called to her as he unlocked the bike.

"I'm fine," she replied, and since the situation seemed to call for it, she added, "You're a knight, you know."

He smiled. "Yes, I'm your knight to the rescue."

Gwinny glanced at the others. They didn't seem to have noticed anything either, despite their own strange attire. Malcolm gave his brother a strict, appraising look, but it was clearly not the armour he was referring to when he said, "Where are you going, looking so posh?"

Douglas straightened his back. "If you must know," he replied haughtily, mounting his bike, "I'm taking Jo Sedley to the matinee."

"Isn't she the one who fancies Dick Sheldon?" Malcolm asked.

Douglas's steed balked, but he got it back on track and snapped, "Dick Sheldon is an idiot," as he passed the others on his way out of the garden.

Gwinny watched him go down the road, a cape-clad figure on a worn old bike, or a boy in his fancy shirt, riding a horse, and the further away he went, the more he was just Douglas again.

"That was odd," she said.

"I say," replied Caspar. "Who were they?"

"What? Oh, the Vile Children. No, I meant - didn't you see?" Gwinny stared at Caspar, who was now back in his ordinary clothes. She asked, "What's the name of those shirts made of metal rings, that knights have?"

"Chainmail. Why?"

"You were wearing it just now."

He frowned. "Gwinny, are you sure you're all right? Those children didn't shock you into incoherence or anything?"

She had been about to explain further, but at that insult to her sanity she gave up. They were bound to discover the truth for themselves sooner or later, and until then she wasn't sure there was anything she could say to convince them.

"Never mind," she said. "It was just a game."

"And those children?" Malcolm asked.

"Don't worry about them. They won't be back."

It took her much longer to convince them that the Vile Children were of no consequence than it had taken to make them forget the things she'd said about knights and chainmail. Hardly surprising, since her own firm conviction that she'd seen the last of her bullies was based on the fact that she'd known, from the looks on their faces, that they had seen exactly the same thing she had seen.

At long last, Caspar and Malcolm accepted her insistence that everything was all right, and returned to the trampoline. Johnny remained.

"Oh, really, Johnny!" she said. "Don't hover."

"I won't," he said, and after a moment's hesitation added, in a low voice, "What you said, about knights..."

She watched him carefully, seeing that he seemed really serious. "You had a sword."

He held it up. It was now eight inches long, with a yellow handle. "It's a table knife."

"I can see that. But was it a table knife a minute ago?"

He bit his lip and scowled so hard that she smiled in triumph before he even answered, "No. It wasn't."

"Then why couldn't they see that?"

Looking towards the other two, who were tumbling through the air and wouldn't even have noticed a bomb going off (unless it damaged the trampoline), Johnny said, "I think maybe it's easier to tell if you're not transformed yourself. I didn't notice the chainmail you mentioned or anything else strange, except the sword."

"How come you..."

"Believe me," her said with emphasis, "it's really hard not to notice holding a sword as long as your arm."

Gwinny laughed. "I guess it would be. Just as well that we never got around to planting anything here, eh? Come on, race you to the trampoline!"

Without waiting for affirmation from Johnny, she ran over to the trampoline and jumped up, ready to continue the game.

 

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Johnny kept his room clean - more or less - for a few more weeks. Then his siblings started noticing clothes thrown on the floor, toys strewn over the room and books shoved randomly onto the shelves. At first, when they pointed it out, Johnny put the things away, but after a while he just shrugged and said, "You do it." Caspar tried thumping him, but even that didn't help. And so it was that Caspar walked into Johnny's room one day to find Malcolm on his knees, sorting Johnny's toys into boxes.

"You shouldn't have to do that," he said.

"Shouldn't have to," Malcolm replied heatedly, pushing a filled box into its place. "Bloody easier than getting him to do it, isn't it?"

Caspar had to admit that this was true. He even sat down to help, though it seemed every other thing he put in a box, Malcolm immediately picked up and put in a different box.

"It's no use, though, is it?" Caspar said after a while. "There are two months left. They will find out."

Malcolm snatched a spirograph, a little doll in a blue dress, and a helicopter from the floor and tossed them in boxes. Caspar was fairly certain that the doll was one of Gwinny's bippers, or whatever those were called, but he didn't feel like pointing that out. He rather hoped Johnny's friends would find it in that box some day.

"If he doesn't want a hamster anymore, that's one thing," Malcolm said. "But he's ruining things for us as well."

Caspar glumly had to admit that this was true. He'd had hopes of a Labrador - he'd always liked the glossy look of them - or maybe a German Shepherd, but it seemed very unlikely that those wishes should ever come true, now. It wasn't fair that they'd have to rely on Johnny's cleaning skills.

"Maybe we could convince Mum and the Ogre to let us have a different deal?" he offered, not sure if he believed in the possibility himself. "If we can convince them that all four of us are responsible, it wouldn't matter so much about Johnny, would it?"

Malcolm halted his work and watched Caspar closely, his expression wavering between hope and doubt. "Are you, though?"

Caspar noted that he'd said 'are you', not 'are we' - but then, that was fair enough. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'd like to try."

Malcolm nodded, picking up a few more things on autopilot as he thought. "Perhaps you could talk to Sally," he suggested. "Have her approach the Ogre. It would be more..." He went quiet as he pulled a rattling carton from under Johnny's bed.

"What?" Caspar asked and leaned closer to see what Malcolm had found.

It was a half-full box of hamster mix.

"I'll kill him," Caspar said. "I swear I'll kill him."

He ran down the stairs, but killing Johnny proved hard since he was nowhere to be found. Caspar searched the house, the garden, and the shed, without sign of Johnny or his hamster, and by the time Johnny walked through the door, red-cheeked and dirty-fingered, the adults were home too and there was no time to talk. It wasn't until after supper that Caspar managed to drag Johnny aside and ask him straight out about the hamster.

"What hamster?" Johnny asked and tried to dodge under Caspar's arm. "I won't get one until Christmas."

Caspar grabbed the doorway, blocking Johnny's path. "Yeah, but you have one now, don't you? We saw the food."

"I don't. Let me go! That food's for later."

"It's half empty."

"You have no business going through my things! Anyway, I got it from a friend."

"Same friend you got the hamster? Where are you keeping it? They need proper cages, you know."

"I don't have a hamster. Let me go!"

Johnny broke loose and disappeared up the stairs. Caspar didn't follow. He was fairly certain Johnny was lying, but not entirely certain - even if Johnny had been foolish enough to buy a hamster without permission, Caspar couldn't think of any places the hamster could be kept without the four of them finding out. He decided to confer with the others, and found Gwinny in the kitchen, organising an Antarctic expedition for her dolls in the freezer.

"Oh, leave him alone," she said at Caspar's explanation. "You'll only get him caught if you go snooping. Besides, I owe him."

"For what?" Caspar asked.

Gwinny gave him a measuring look and then returned to her dolls, who were making camp behind the Rock of Peas.

"Will you at least tell me if you find something?" he asked.

"Yes," she said, and since the answer seemed honest enough Caspar let her be and went to talk to Malcolm, who was much more willing to search for Johnny's hamster.

"Since the box was half empty," Malcolm said, "it seems likely that he's had the hamster for some time. Probably near the hamster mix, but not in his room - we would have found it there. I think the first place to give a thorough search should be the attic, that's near enough."

They searched the attic without any luck. "Perhaps we should talk to Douglas?" Caspar suggested.

"Um," said Malcolm, and Caspar understood and - reluctantly - agreed. Douglas had come home that evening glum and growling. Nobody knew why, but whatever the reason, until it was dealt with setting Douglas on Johnny seemed like overkill.

Eventually they had to give up and go to bed without finding the hamster. If Caspar thought Johnny looked smug when they passed each other by the bathroom, perhaps he was not wholly mistaken.

 

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Douglas's foul mood remained for days. It upset Gwinny, who had the distinct impression that Douglas was sad and not angry, and so rather than staying away from him like the boys did she tried to investigate the matter by looking at the facts.

Fact: He no longer dressed up in ironed shirts as he had for the past month. Fact: He stayed in at nights, making everyone as miserable as himself. Fact: Right now, when watching Corrie, he was chewing his lip, and his eyes were unusually brilliant.

Gwinny sat down and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he snapped.

Definitely not all right. She sat in silence, watching a shouty, adult love triangle play out on screen, and suddenly, without even connecting the dots, she knew. "Oh!" she said.

"What?"

"Nothing." Because even knowing what was wrong didn't mean she knew what to do about it. To give herself some time, she decided on a temporary remedy - she jumped up and went to fetch some chocolate bars from Caspar's stash behind his bed. Running back downstairs, she took a bite out of one before tossing the rest into Douglas's lap.

"Here," she said. "I thought you might need them."

Douglas started, and then smiled a little. "Thanks," he said, and began to eat without asking any questions of why or where from.

"You're welcome." She sat back down in the sofa and for a while said nothing at all, but since the chocolate seemed to have mellowed him a bit, she finally offered, "Dick Sheldon is an idiot, right?"

He put the chocolate down, and for a moment she thought that maybe she shouldn't have said that, but he snorted and replied, "Right."

While she was still trying to think of something else to say, a little golden-brown fuzzy thing breezed across the floor. She gave Douglas a startled glance. "Did you..."

He sat up straight, his mouth hanging open. "That was..."

She knew exactly what it was, but out of sibling loyalty still interrupted: "A rat!"

"Rats have tails," he said, standing up. "I can't believe Johnny's letting his blasted hamster run free!"

He lay the bars on the table and ran after the little animal into the hallway. Gwinny followed, just in time to see the hamster disappear behind the shoe-rack.

Shoes rained down on the floor as Douglas pulled out the rack. Tossing aside two odd lingering boots, he revealed a hole in the wall, which he stuck his hand in.

"Can't find it," he said. "But there's a draught. That dratted thing has found a way outside."

Gwinny automatically threw a glance out the window. She didn't really expect to see anything, but to her surprise one of the shadows under the trampoline moved, and knowing what to look for she could see that it was an animal. But the shadow was black, not golden-brown. Two hamsters? She blinked, and hurriedly found her wellingtons in the pile of shoes so she could go out and have a look.

Lying on her stomach by the trampoline, she called out to Douglas, "I think you had better come see this!"

Douglas came, and saw, and without concern for who might hear, he bellowed: "Johnny!"

 

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"I had no idea there would grow to be so many," Johnny defended himself.

They had, with some difficulty, managed to convince the Ogre that nothing in particular was going on, and now all five children were dressed in raincoats and lying by the trampoline, peering at small holes in the ground, with the occasional whiskered face peeping forward and lots of tiny squeaks coming from below.

"Just how many are they?" Caspar asked.

"I don't know. I sowed about twenty seeds, but all of those didn't seem to grow, and now I think the first hamsters have had babies. A few of them have died, too. They fight each other like you wouldn't believe."

"Of course they do," Malcolm said. "Hamsters are solitary. Didn't you so much as read a book before you started this?"

"I had no reason to think it would work, now, did I? Except what happened to the chairs, of course."

Caspar watched the holes is evident fascination. "It's brilliant, though, isn't it?"

Douglas glared at him with clear murderous intent.

"I'm just saying - hamsters grown from hamster mix? Ace."

Johnny grinned at the compliment, but then his smile faltered. "I just wish they wouldn't fight so. I've had three die so far, and I hate throwing them away. I can't even bury them. I tried with the first one, and..." he swallowed... "it came back. All mangled-like."

"Oh, ew," Gwinny said heatedly, and even Douglas looked ready to throw up.

"We'll have to get them out of here somehow," Caspar said. "If we can lure them into cages and move them without the Ogre finding out, you could sell them and earn a pretty penny."

"We have to do it fast, though," Malcolm said, "before the frost sets in. I don't think they'll survive winter."

"I'm not sure it will matter here," Caspar said.

"It will if you don't want popsicle hamsters tinkling around," said Douglas. "Listen, you hare-brained little idiots..."

As he went on like that, Gwinny crawled out and sat down on the edge of the trampoline. Partly, she did this to make sure they weren't seen or - more likely - overheard. Partly, she wanted to have a quiet yet hearty laugh without Douglas seeing her. He might be in his overbearing and angry mode, but at least he wasn't miserable anymore. And her brothers were friends again. And most important of all, a garden where you could grow hamsters from seeds made promises of lots and lots of wonderful adventures.

THE END


End file.
